


The Glitterball

by Guccichoochie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bands, Battle of the Bands, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Glitter, Hogwarts Seventh Year, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Multi, Prank Wars, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guccichoochie/pseuds/Guccichoochie
Summary: HALLEY HOPCROFT and the Glitterballs are in their seventh year at Hogwarts and preparing to be the band that hosts prom.THE MARAUDERS throw them off course when they suddenly find themselves head to head in a battle to gain notoriety, consisting of late night escapades, magic-fueled adventures and wild parties.Out of all the things that she expected, a blossoming romance with a boy from their rival band was not on the list. . .[Marauders×rival band era][Remus Lupin fanfiction]𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋©guccichoochie, 2021
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin/Original Female Character(s), Sirius Black/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter One: Goblin Conga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wizarding world and its characters belong to the original author, JK Rowling, and I do not claim these to be my own. That being said, the plot of this story and the original characters do belong to me. 
> 
> I do not support JK Rowling and detest her transphobic views, opinions and articles. If you would like to educate yourself on the matter, I would highly reccomend watching Contrapoints YouTube video regarding JK Rowling (title is the same name)! 
> 
> This book contains themes of sex and the consumption of alcohol— the age of the characters means that this is legal in the UK & wizarding world. Further content and trigger warnings will be added to any chapters that I deem necessary!
> 
> I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! -R x

THURSDAY 31st AUGUST, 1978

JUST LIKE THE wizards, witches and various other hooded figures that packed into The Three Broomsticks, Halley was there to celebrate the victory of England at the Quidditch World Cup. 

Well— Xerxes was there to celebrate the victory of England at the Quidditch World Cup. Her other friends shared a different attitude altogether:

"Getting absolutely, completely and utterly sloshed," Tarquin explained, a devious grin carved into his face as he ushered the group into a spare booth. 

The pub was rife with chatter, a beaten jukebox crackling away in one corner; next to a wall displaying antlers that glowed above a dark oak fireplace— this was the perfect way to see the end to the last summer holidays spent at Hogwarts, in Halleys humble opinion. 

"Like how Russia got sloshed by our team?" Xerxes asked eagerly, his lips quirking up into a wry smirk, "I mean, can we just take a second to appreciate that moment when—" 

"Merlins beard, Xers, we've spent hours appreciating each moment— I have no appreciation left over!" Gillian huffed, fixing her ebony blowout as she did so. 

Xerxes raised his aristocratic eyebrows, "I have plenty left over, thank you very much." 

"I know what else you have plenty left over of," Tarquin batted his eyes mockingly, "pretty, pretty please?" 

A curled fist slammed into the table— it belonged to Xerxes, who underestimated his own strength at the best of times,"why do I always have to buy the first round? I object! This is not democracy!" 

Gillian had been inspecting her manicure— a series of daisies craftily painted onto each almond fingernail— and looked up only to send a miniature eyeroll in Halley's direction, "he worked a part time job for two weeks at the start of summer, and suddenly he thinks he knows what 'democracy' means." 

"A part time job at the Ministry!" Xerxes butted in. 

"Cleaning the floors, Xerxes!" Tarquin reminded him, "you were a bloody effing cleaner for two weeks, and got fired for—" 

"—Bless his little cotton socks," Halley laughed, "let him have his fun, guys. Come on then, Xerxes— I'll buy the first round." 

Xerxes complied merrily, jokingly pushing past Tarquin so that he could follow Halley through the thick crowd. 

If Xerxes underestimated his strength, than Halley underestimated her sound— if anyone wanted a racket, or some mayhem, they could rely upon her. 

Asides from an innate desire to be unapologetically boisterous, Halley Hapcroft also held credentials for hair that preferred to frizz rather than curl, and eyes that preferred to sparkle mischievously than keep secrets. 

Tucked away into a tight pocket of her flared jeans were a few sticky coins— she pushed them across the counter and gave the burly bartender as sweet of a smile as possible. 

"Four Cauldron Ciders, please." 

"And we want those shaken, not stirred," Xerxes imitated a deep voice, the baritone making his newly developed adams apple bobble. 

Halley nudged him, "quit it with the muggle references, dickwad— you'll freak people out. . . and stop doing funny voices! You need to save that singing voice of yours for—" 

"— band practice," Xerxes sighed, "whoopie."  
  
"You seem happy as Larry when you skip off to Quidditch practices— why not the same enthusiasm for the band?" Halley implored. 

"In Quidditch practice, we are training for an upcoming event. . . need I remind you that we haven't actually performed, and that the chances are rather slim, especially with exams this—" 

"— lalalala!" Halley sung loudly, "The Three Broomsticks is a NEWT free zone, remember?" 

Halley liked to remain optimistic about the bands future endeavours— whether they be pretend or not. Her dreams were filled with stadium tours, album signings and Daily Prophet interviews. 

Nothing seemed more blissful than the burnt rubber of shoe soles as you marched across a stage, cursing out past lovers or chanting expletive recitals with David Bowie— he would be the background singer, of course. 

Indeed, the band had no name, but the members certainly packed a punch or two: 

There was Gillian— who much preferred her nickname, Addy— a lip-gloss loving braniac; Tarquin, a promiscuous and furiously devoted confidant; Xerxes, an optimistic Quidditch captain stroke singer, and Halley, a drummer who devoted any time not spent making a racket trying to find a venue to perform at. 

The bartender heaved four icy glass bottles in the duos direction. 

"Say, kind sir, did you ask Madam Rosmerita about us perfor—" Halley began. 

"— answer is still no. Has been since nineteen seventy four— now scram." He grunted. 

Xerxes pushed out his bottom lip, faking sadness, "do you think that was a no?"

Halley blew a loose strand of hair back into its rightful place, and focused on returning the drinks to her mates, who suggested a toast. 

"To the band!" She smiled. 

"To winning the Cup!" Xerxes said eagerly, his glass hovering in the air. 

"To fabulous hair!" Gillian chimed. 

"To getting pissed!" Tarquin concluded, lips pursed as the glasses clinked together. 

The Hufflepuffs sure did know how to drink and disperse— merely one hour later, Gillian was gossiping with some elderly women in the corner, Xerxes was filling shot glasses with water and leaving them for Tarquin to find, and Halley was on her seventh lap of the goblin conga. 

"This is so much fun!" Halley shouted, the soles of her boots stomping against the floorboards as her hands clutched onto the green shoulders of the goblin in front of her. 

They responded in a language that she didn't speak— but the figure behind her did: 

"Was wondering when we would see the flagpole snatchers again!" 

Halley turned around quickly, causing the goblin conga to split in half. In a confused state, the two strains ended up colliding with one another; an abundance of limbs flying in all directions. 

She found herself on the floor, pressed up against none other than Remus Lupin. 

As in, ex-loverboy Remus Lupin. 

"Trying to get me killed?" She spat, quickly standing up and offering him a hand. He brushed it off, springing to his feet quickly, and shrugged: 

"Not my fault that you stood on a goblins foot." 

"I did? Shhhit, that's forty-five and a half years of bad luck!" She groaned, smacking her sweaty forehead with the palm of her hand. 

Remus chuckled, "who on earth told you that?" 

Halley frowned, "Tarquin did, obviously. Fills my head with all sorts of nonsense, mind you. . . speaking of, if he asks for me, tell him I've just popped outside for fresh air." 

Of course, it is notoriously tricky to make a lucky escape from a teen heartthrob— Halley knew this to be the case after feasting on fast food and romantic comedies with Tarquin merely nights ago. 

So whilst she had left the muffled sounds of shrieks and chanting behind her, Remus slipped past the crooked back door. 

"You lot snatched our flagpole first! Revenge is a dish best served cold— or on top of the Gryffindor Tower," Halley argued, arms crossed as she leant against the wall and looked beyond the smoking area. 

"Wanna fag?" He asked, ignoring her point. 

"Again, trying to get me killed?" 

"These are premium! I'm being nice," he waved the packet near her face. She tried to grab it, but a sharp reflex and vast height difference prevented it. 

"Whatever," she huffed, crossing her arms once more. 

The velvety sky had brought bitter cold along with it, although her reddened cheeks wouldn't of had a clue. 

Remus took a drag of his cigarette, shoes scuffing the floor as he slowly paced from one wall to another. His fingers lingered over the freckles that kissed the bridge of his nose, as well as a semi-fresh pink scar. 

"You should consider selling that rabbit of yours," Halley noted, "looks like it's causing more damage than the ciggies are." 

He took a sharp breath before replying, "you're shivering." 

She looked down and laughed, "well spotted." 

He put out his cigarette on the wall, twisting the top before throwing it out into the darkness beyond the insufficient beer garden. Gosh, they do that in all the rom-coms, too. 

"Here," he said, dutifully, taking off his biker jacket and placing it on her shoulders, and then tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers awkwardly. 

"I can't take this," she said softly, letting the heavy leather hang between her fingers, "my friends will go mental." 

"They already are," he chuckled, stopping when he saw the look on her face, "right, well, why would they go mental?" 

Halley stopped to think. The best answer was, "it's yours."

"Isn't." 

"It's not?" She asked, taking in the strong smell of whisky, sandlewood and burnt rubber, "you didn't haggle with some witch for it, did you?" 

He laughed, "No, it's Sirius'. He uses it when riding on his motorbike, but he's currently in the goblin conga and threw it at me when I left to check on you." 

She waved the jacket in the air, "take it back, then." 

Remus stepped back, hands in the air, "I insist that you wear it." 

"I insist that I do not!" 

"I persist that you do, Hopcroft—"

"— I persist that you take the sodding jacket back, Lupin—" 

It took a great deal of chasing in tiny circles, but she eventually managed to shove the bundled fabric into his hands, their fingers breezing past one anothers before they were instantaneously holding hands. 

Of course, because he's just such a stereotypical heartthrob, Halley thought to herself, as he held her gaze just long enough to entice her into pulling him closer and kissing him. 

Alcohol and tobacco peppered on his lips, Remus tasted like a song she could only dream of playing to a packed arena. 

She was almost too scared to, but she ran a hand through his hair— it was, indeed, just as soft as it had been before. 

"Yep, you're trying to get me killed," she concluded, as his hand rose from her waist to cup one blushing cheek. 

The electrical atmosphere was disrupted by Xerxes— perhaps for the best. This boy was heaven and hell mixed together, dressed as a well-behaved Prefect— she couldn't fall for it again. 

"Oh, there you are!" Xerxes huffed, "You better come and see this, Hals. . ."

"Why? What is it?" 

"Well, as you know," he shot a look at Remus, "those pesky Gryffindors are bugging us again. I thought that Tarquin was going to cause a fight, but now, they're proposing a full on battle!" 

The previously entangled duo exchanged confused glances before scrambling to get to the booth first, the warmth of the fireplace bringing her back to reality again. 

"Where on earth have you been?" Gillian retorted, ordering Peter to move out of the way so that her friend could sit down. 

"Nevermind that," Halley skirted around the question, "what's going on here?" 

Sirius Black, with a personality as cocky as his name, greeted Remus as he changed back into his biker jacket, running a hand through his sleek hair and fastening a petty smile. 

"Your friend Sequin here—" He began. 

"— Tarquin. His name is Tarquin." Halley said through gritted teeth. 

"— Tarquin," he replied, "is refusing to tell us how to reverse the spell that has the flagpole stuck to Gryffindor Tower." 

Halley laughed, "good on him. Serves you dickwads right, for doing it to us first!" 

"Oh, come on, you can't just steal it forever," Peter whined, "what is it, go on! Permanent sticking charm?" 

"It's none of your business, that's what it is," Gillian replied, looking rather pleased with his displeasure. 

James, who clearly thought of himself to be the gentlemanly figurehead out of all the boys, attempted to reason, "it is our flagpole. It's on top of our house!" 

Xerxes said nothing— he liked to play fair when it came to other Quidditch captains, holding a certain respect for them. 

"Su casa is mi casa," Tarquin shrugged, "besides, it ain't your flagpole anymore." 

Halley nodded viciously, downing a glass of firewhisky that had been left unattended to. 

"Oi," Peter's mouth dropped open, "that was mine!" 

"Just like the flagpole is—" Gillian taunted him, "oh wait. . . it isn't anymore, is it?" 

"Guys!" Remus butted in, hand pressed against the table as he listened in on the group, "Is all of this bickering really necessary?" 

"Yes!" Gillian, Tarquin and Sirius yelled at the same time. 

"I'm not leaving until they promise to change it back—" Sirius huffed. 

"— and we won't change it back, because we have better things to be doing!" Gillian raised her eyebrows and widened her big, brown eyes. 

Sirius scoffed, "oh yeah? Like what?" 

Xerxes now chimed in, baby-faced and green-eyed, "a band, we have a entire band." 

Sirius' hand smacked into a glass— it cluttered next to a cluster of other empty ones, which popped! back to the kitchen— "HA!" 

Peter now took comfort in Gillian's displeasure, "we have a band too, loser buttheads." 

Halley shot Remus a look. Just moments ago, he had been kissing her outside, without thinking to tell her that he was part of his very own band? 

"Fuck off," Halley fumed, voice raised and nostrils slightly flared, "you can't have a band. That's our thing." 

Of course other people could have their own bands— Dumbledore could stand up in the Great Hall and perform Queen's greatest hits alongside Slughorn for all she cared. 

But not him. 

"Your thing?" Sirius scoffed, "we only found out that you had a band a few moments ago. Hardly snatched it from you. In fact, ours has been formed for a month!" 

"Ours has been formed for four years, dickwad," Halley defended the band as if it were her toddler, "go on then, what's your name?" 

"The Pussy Magnets," James chimed in, although he couldn't help but giggle at the provocative name as he adjusted his rounded glasses. 

"How endearing," Tarquin commented. 

The boys ignored this, especially Remus, who twisted his mouth and avoided Halley's looks. 

Skiniving dream stealer, she thought. 

"Now, do enlighten us with yours," Sirius clasped his hands together, placing them under his chin. 

"The. . . the. . ." Xerxes began, although he trailed off in a drunken haze as he swayed in his seat. 

"Oh, Merlin's crusty beard, they don't even have a group name!" Sirius laughed mockingly, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing. 

"We can come up with one, double dickwads," Gillian retorted. 

Remus was now sat at the table, as Sirius had accommodated for him, and James catapulted himself so that he was stretched across their laps. 

The group of friends exchanged worried glances, but Tarquin seemed to have had a lightbulb moment, because he slammed his hand on the table and said, "I know!" 

"Do enlighten us," Xerxes said quickly. 

Tarquin simply pointed to the other side of the room. 

The friends took a few seconds to process what they were looking at— little else asides from a room full of crowded people. 

"Sweaty goblins?" Xerxes asked, looking rather keen on the name. 

"Goblin conga?" Gillian chimed in—  
a contribution that she seemed uncertain of. 

"I'm too drunk for this. . . shit, what's that thing called? A glitterball?" Halley asked, her gaze fixated on a small, round mirrored ball that cast tiny spectacles of light upon the ceiling. 

Tarquin snorted before correcting her, "nah, disco!" 

"So that's the group name? Disco?" Peter said, with an air of confusion. 

"You truely are as dim-witted as you look," Tarquin rolled his eyes, "but I like your thinking, Hals. . . that settles it. The band is called Glitterball." 

"Glitterball. . . it has a nice ring to it," Halley smiled, feeling everything beginning to click into place. 

"What a lovely little origin story," James chirped, without meaning to be sarcastic, "now please, we beg of you, give us back our flagpole." 

"Or we'll practice so fucking hard that we will perform at every venue that you try to book— like. . . like prom!" Sirius dared, his shoulders broadening as he declared it. 

Prom?! 

"Black, you wouldn't dare— I was the one that convinced McGonagall to host a prom! I'm literally organising the entire thing, in exchange for a gig!" Halley leaned across the table, frizz flying in all directions. 

She looked desperately at each member of the newly formed Glitterball— each of them furiously shook their heads. 

"We aren't admitting defeat," Tarquin clutched his chest, "the very thought pains me." 

"Just give us back the—" Peter began. 

"— no!" Gillian yelled, and the duo began to bicker amongst themselves. 

"We aren't giving you back the flagpole until you give me back my prom," Halley stated, liqueur feeding her a sudden eagerness for battle— she was armed, and she could survive a bruise or two. 

"Give us back our prom," Gillian cut in, before returning back to chastise Peter. 

Halley waved her hand dismissively, "not important." 

"These negotiations are becoming hostile, Hopcroft," Sirius sighed, "we won't give back prom until you give us back our flagpole— so I suppose nobody gets what they want." 

James shifted from his position, ready to leave, but Remus placed a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. 

"No, wait," Remus started, "why negotiate when we can place a bet? A challenge? You know, like a race. . . or something?" 

Halley wagged her finger, "merlins beard, that's it! Pussy magnets versus glitterball— whoever wins gets both the flagpole and prom, and the losers. . ." 

". . . admit defeat?" Tarquin suggested, shrugging. 

Sirius averted his gaze to Tarquin, eyebrows furrowing as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards and into a devious smirk, "losers have to declare the other band as the ultimate band, in front of everyone, at prom." 

Gillian, oblivious as to how mortifying such a declaration would be, abruptly ended her everlasting feud with Peter to squeal with excitement— she reached into her purse and began pulling out sliver paper and glittery stationary. 

"Oh gosh, not the glitter," Sirius complained, wiping the Firewhisky embers from his chin, "bloody glitter herpes, that's what I'll have after—" 

Halley tuned him out, brain on overload as she contemplated the future of her band, reputation and final year at school. As she did so, she finally managed to catch Remus' eye— he simply smiled. 

Fucking hell. . . we better not lose.


	2. Chapter Two: Glitter Herpes

Tᕼᗴ ᑭᑌՏՏY ᗰᗩᘜᑎᗴTՏ TO ᗪO ᒪIՏT 

Oᑎᗴ) ᑭᖇᗩᑎK Oᑎᗴ ᗩᑎOTᕼᗴᖇ 

TᗯO) ᘜO ՏTᖇᗴᗩKIᑎᘜ Oᑎ Tᕼᗴ ᑫᑌIᗪᗪITᑕᕼ ᑭITᑕᕼ 

Tᕼᖇᗴᗴ) TᕼᖇOᗯ ᗩ ᑕOՏTᑌᗰᗴ ᑭᗩᖇTY (ᗩᑎᗪ IᑎᐯITᗴ ᑌՏ) 

ᖴOᑌᖇ) ՏTᗴᗩᒪ ᗰᖇՏ ᑎOᖇᖇIՏ ᖴᖇOᗰ ᖴIᒪᑕᕼ

ᖴIᐯᗴ) Տᑭᗴᑎᗪ ᗩ ᑎIᘜᕼT Iᑎ Tᕼᗴ ᕼᑌᖴᖴᒪᗴᑭᑌᖴᖴ ᗷᗩՏᗴᗰᗴᑎT ᗯITᕼOᑌT ᑌՏ ᑎOTIᑕIᑎᘜ 

☆

𝐺𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙'𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 

𝑜𝑛𝑒) 𝑠𝑛𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑎𝑙𝑐𝑜ℎ𝑜𝑙 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑙 

𝑡𝑤𝑜) 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 

𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒) 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑦 (𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑢𝑠) 

𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑟) 𝑔𝑜 𝑠𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑛𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 

𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒) 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑎 𝐺𝑟𝑦𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑟


	3. Chapter Three: Bus Thrust

FRIDAY 1st SEPTEMBER, 1978

HALLEY STIRRED FROM her sleep, eager to turn off the alarm clock— an overbearing chugging sound coming from the near distance. . .

Then, she woke up in an instant, her head heavy and taking the brunt of the dreaded hangover symptoms. She was not in her bedroom— she was in a lodging. 

"Now, this is the part where everything goes wrong," Tarquin explained to her, chucking a handful of buttered popcorn into his mouth. 

"Goes wrong? But everything was fine just a minute ago! They just met in the bar, exchanged goggly eyes— surely everything is fine?" 

Tarquin giggled, "fine is boring, in movies like these. Romance always brews just like how a potion does in a cauldron. . . you have to add a shitload of messy ingredients, and then watch as it all bubbles over and turns, like, toxic green or some shit."

A boyish slump, curled up and in the thin rugged blankets, lay next to her, showing signs of life through the occasional quiet snore. 

Indeed, something had gone wrong— stupid, idiotic, drunkard Halley had clearly slept with Remus Lupin. 

As in, ex-loverboy Remus Lupin. 

To make matters worse, the alarm clock was not an alarm clock at all, but instead the collaborative noise of an engine and train tracks in the distance— the Hogwarts students had already arrived at school. 

Should she wake him? 

No, definately not, she thought, as she summoned her bag, that Xerxes had been protecting. Ok, so, the other bandmates— the glitterballs— must be nearby. . . and she was in a lodging. . . 

"Hogs Head Inn," his voice, although smooth as honey, was thick and groggy as he confirmed her suspicions. 

"Merlins beard. . . Remus, you—can't— say— a— word!" 

"Eye Eye, captain," he retorted, turning back around. 

Halley couldn't wait to curse at Tarquin for filling her head with nonsense again. Because this— whatever this is— could not romantic at all. 

"You best get a move on," Halley eventually decided to say, once dressed in crumpled robes adorned with lemon, "reckon you'll miss the first half of term if you carry on with that dreadful snoring." 

"You pretend to play the drums in your sleep," Remus commented, one sly eyebrow peaking out from the sheets. 

"Do not!" She gasped, almost proud of herself. 

"Do too— being treated as a bass pedal was pretty dreadful, I'll have you know." 

"Great, brilliant," she nodded, fiddling with her hair, "well, that's fantastic. Now stop wasting my time and start spending yours!" 

She reached for the handle of the locked door when Remus called out,  
"You will speak to me again, right?" 

She refrained from rolling her eyes, "I was just speaking to you." 

"I mean. . . you know. Speaking to me, even when you don't have to." 

"In your dreams," she tilted her head to spy on him a final time, pushing the cool metal handle downwards. 

"Good reason to go back to sleep, then." 

Ok, that was the chemical reaction— the butterflies she felt from those few words. Ugh, boys! Dumb, stupid, rotten boys. Go around forming bands. . . shagging you . . . and then saying things to make you swoon! Dumb, stupid, rotte— 

"There you are!" Tarquin hissed, "for fuck sakes, I was trodding through the fields out back at six, Hals!" 

"Good godric, you exercised?" She responded sarcastically, finally managing to make her locks conform into a ponytail. 

"Won't be doing it again," he warned, "anyways, we have a problem—"

He was cut short as Remus edged against the wall, smiling breifly before rushing down the dingey staircase. 

"—and. . . HALLEY HOPCROFT!" 

Without thinking, Halley slapped her mouth against Tarquins mouth. A few muffled sounds later, and she released him, hoping that he had taken the moment to comprehend it. 

Indeed, Tarquin had experienced a range of motions, seconds apart: first, his eyes widened, then he brought his hands to his cheeks to drag them downwards, then he rolled his eyes— when released, he had settled on a a toothy grin. 

"Halley Hopcroft, you little minx! The enemy? Do you know what— spare the details about problem number two. You can tell me all about it later— we need to talk about problem number one." 

Halley inwardly groaned— what had Tarquin broken this time? Instead, he simply pointed downstairs, and then made a gesture as if he were applying lipgloss. 

"Shitballs," she gawped, "Gillian's been spotted? I told her to say she was a halfblood!" 

Although they had been in their own little bubble, celebrating the world cup win, the war was raging on— they knew as well as anyone else that they weren't truely safe being themselves, especially if they weren't at Hogwarts. 

"She hasn't been spotted yet, but I was out in the fields, wasn't I? And I saw a group of. . . you-know-whos. . ." Tarquin explained. 

The hallway suddenly felt a lot colder. 

"Right. Right— well, we need to get to school, without being spotted. . . and we need to get there fast. . ." she spoke as if she were reaching a conclusion, but she had no idea how to protect her friend. 

If anything, Gillian would be the best one to figure out a plan. 

Halley rushed down the stairs, Tarquin following suit. They entered the downstairs floor, which was equally as enclosed and grey in colour, with large stone cobblestones as a floor. 

Gillian, who had spent minimal time maintaining her appearance, looked apprehensive as she clutched a guitar case in one hand and her baggage in the other. 

"I think you're overthinking it, Quinny—" 

"—don't be daft," he brushed her off, "there's no point risking it. You know, er, with what's going on." 

Tarquin knew most than anyone. He came from a pureblood family, that prided themselves on their heritage— all for the sake of fooling the 'Dark Lord'. 

His mother and father were feeding information back to Dumbledore weekly, and during these visitings Tarquin would catch glimpses of visitors or snippets of conversation. 

It was drilled into him from a young age that this belief system was hysteria, and that he could use his status to his advantage— to protect his acquaintances, Halley assumed. 

However, there was also the fact that he and Gillian were black— if they weren't trying to hide the fact that she was muggle born, they were simply trying to blend in, in general. 

Halley gulped— matters like this were the only times she was silenced. No amount of noise could frighten a Death Eater, that was certain. 

"We could. . . oh!" She realised, and pulled her friends in closer, "we could use the Knight Bus?"

It was clear that Gillian was evaluating this, as she chewed on the inside of her mouth, her eyes darting to and fro. 

"Yeah, go on, then. I'll hide, you can call it, and then I'll jump on?" 

"Bish bash bosh," Tarquin grinned, looking relieved, "wands at the ready, ladies?" 

"Ready," Gillian nodded. 

The grassy stumps outside of the Inn were slick with dewdrops, and the sun was high. It was warm, but not too warm— Addy's favourite weather. 

Halley stuck one hand out casually, tapping her boot against the ground. Then, out of nowhere, a triple-decker bus popped! out of nowhere, its huge tyres skidding across the mud as it came to a deafening hault. 

"Alright, Jenny?" Halley grinned, the familiar face of the conductor coming into view. 

"'Ello, babes! On ya get— the lot of youse! And 'urry, got places to be!" Jenny ushered them on, turning a blind eye to the cloaked figure that Tarquin was dragging along next to him. 

"All aboard, my love?" Ernie, the driver, called out to his wife. Halley knew that this was the case, not only because of the overtly large Vegas casino rings, but because she had taken the Knight Bus many times before— she had a nack for being late to things. 

"E-drizzle, my man!" Halley laughed, "need to get as close to Hogwarts without being spotted— and step on it, if you can— we're a tad late." 

Tarquin made a sardonic, low, inwardly groan, "please, Hals, my head is throbbing." 

The devil on her shoulder felt like making a racket purely because there was an amusement found in annoyed, hungover teenagers. . . the angel on her shoulder told her that Ernie and Jenny Shunpike would do that for her. 

And, indeed, as the bus set off for the rolling hills of Hogwarts, a racket was made— none of the interior was fixed, meaning that they were thrust about as the tyres sped across the cobbled alleyways and traintracks. 

"Good godric in the heavens above, I beg now for mercy!" Tarquin recoiled into the plush armchair of which he had been shoved into by a moving trolley. 

Halley, whose liver had adapted to heavy drinking and late night escapades, laughed like a maniac.

Fuck romantic comedies— I'm a fucking adventure movie. I'm a horror movie. I'm like Darth Vader and Indiana Jones, on steroids. 

The windows of the bus revealed that they were divulged in a darkened forest, the mossy bark blurred as Ernie rushed past a trickling stream and swerved past some talking toadstools. 

Then, up. 

A hill so steep that the engine roared as each passenger, be it in a bed or in an armchair, collided with one another and then collectively smacked against the backside of the bus. 

"Christ almighty," Gillian breathed, checking her nails to see if they had chipped. Tarquin clutched onto her for dear life, eyes clamped shut and forehead clammy. 

Then, it stopped. 

"Reached your destination, kiddies," Jenny said merrily, sticking out her bag to accept the bus fair from each of them. 

"What— on— earth— was— that!" Tarquin gulped, chest heaving. 

"Bus thrust," Jenny replied, so casually that Halley assumed it was a daily occurance, "gives you a bit of oomph, doesn't it, poppet?" 

"Gives me a bit of, uuurrrpghhh—" 

"Oh. . . think he's gonna be sick, I'm afraid," Gillian said quickly, standing up and smoothing over her robe, "thank you, guys!" 

"Rock on," Halley fistbumped Jenny, providing her with the eleven sickles she had on her person. 

The Knight Bus had dropped them off just outside of the gates, and an understandably unimpressed Professor Sprout. 

"Late, as always!" She chastised, arms crossed and gardening gloves clenched, "you missed many important announcements, you missed the entire ceremony. . . an explanation, at once!" 

Halley watched as Tarquin opened his mouth to say something, whilst the Knight Bus zoomed off and into the distance, dragging a few trees along with it. 

"The explanation is that—" he began. . . although the explanation didn't last long, as he was sick all over Professor Sprouts shoes.


	4. Chapter Four: Dry Deborah

SUNDAY 3rd SEPTEMBER, 1978

THE FLOODING OF the Hufflepuff basement occurred, notoriously, at least once a month. 

A combination of a fault in the plumbing and Tarquin's inability to compromise the water supply meant that Halley was not surprised to awake to the trickling sound of water and the muffled grumbles of the other Hufflepuffs. 

"Oh, for crying out loud, Quin! Again?!" The curved walls only amplified the shrill shriek that followed— belonging to none other than Gillian Montgomery Brown. 

Halley sleepily opened her door, the water gushing into the room as she did so, and was met by a crowded tunnel. 

"I say we give 'im a wallop!" One of the smaller students yelled in a plump accent. 

"A fucking what?" Tarquin bellowed, craning his neck to examine the source of the threat. 

"Tarquin!" Gillian groaned, "How many times do I have to tell you not to swear in front of the younger students? And how many times do I have to tell you to turn the taps off!" 

Whilst Gillian and Tarquin bickered over whether he deserved a 'wallop', Xerxes sprung to complete his Prefect duties— performing the cleaning spells that he had become accustomed to whilst leaning down to the others: 

"Now remember, kiddos, swearing is very bad, and giving people wallops is also very bad—" 

"—But those two are doing it!" One of the girls pointed towards Gillian and Tarquin, who had somehow flipped the argument back to the disaster that was her chunky highlights in fourth year. 

"Do as I say, not as I do!" Gillian huffed, and returned back to defend her hair stylist. 

"Anyways," Xerxes sighed, running a hand through his mullet, "I should remind everyone that you need to use the Hot Air Charm on your garments, not the Drought Charm! Need I remind you what happened to poor old Deborah in 1973?"

Halley thought back to their third year and couldn't help but cringe at the memory— the young witch had cast the Drought Charm on herself and therefore sucked the majority of the water out of her body. 

It took some time for Madam Pomfrey to rehydrate her, and whilst it had been some time since the event had passed, the nickname 'Dry Deborah' was still haunting her. 

A bucket and a mop that were hurriedly wiping the floor almost knocked Halley over as she tred through the pool of water, stopping to change the poster on the wall that read: 

It has been  
82 days  
since the last flood

Her dorm room was dark and dingey when the curtains were drawn, and the bunk beds accommodated four girls— Gillian, who was outside, as well as Dry Deborah and Alice. 

"Well, that's one way to start term, isn't it, girls?" Halley sighed as she greeted the other two. 

"I have to commend him," Alice grinned, "trumps last time— took him four days before he flooded the bathroom in sixth year." 

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that. Was that the time when—" 

"—Professor Sprout found the alcohol that he was trying to sneak in to school at the same time? Yeah, yeah it was," Alice finished for her. 

"Lest we not forget third year—" Deborah shuddered, "I still feel rather crispy." 

Halley gave Debbie a weak smile and tried to change the conversation back onto her idea of hammocks in the dorms, "don't you think it would be cool? Even if you lot don't do it, I definately am— just give it a think. I'm going to go and swim my way to breakfast. . ." 

The others merely nodded and rolled back to sleep, either too lazy to take notice of the time or simply not eager to have to cast multiple drying charms just to make it to the Grand Hall for breakfast. 

Tarquin greeted her at the bottom of the ladders that led to said common room, "Sorry about the wet feet, the only reason that I spent extra long in the shower was—" 

"—because of Terence?" Halley wiggled her eyebrows, "spotted you two canoodling at the pub, obviously. I have you figured out, Quinny. You only put those socks on for the boys that you want to get acquainted with." 

She was referring to his only pair of matching socks, and the comment earnt a sigh from Tarquin, "Yeah, well, it hasn't sodding worked so far, and it won't today. Wet socks aren't exactly attractive." 

"I have to agree with you there," Halley nodded as she cast the drying charm on their legs, "But now you should be fine. Anyways, he won't be looking at your feet, he'll be looking at your gorgeous face." 

"There is no need to remind me that I look like a three course meal—" he said with a dramatic flare as they entered the Grand Hall, "—and speaking of three course meals. . ."

She followed his gaze towards the Gryffindor table, and then quickly back at the toast in front of her— Remus wasn't there, so she wasn't sure who he was referring to. 

"Like I said last night. I don't want to hear a peep from you. Got that?" 

"Uh uh, I distinctly remember telling you that I wanted every juicy detail," Tarquin tutted. 

"The details of my plastered and wankered exploits aren't an important thing to focus on," Halley explained through a mouthful of buttery toast, "I need to tell you about my hammock idea—" 

"—This is an important thing to focus on! One of the things on our to do list is for everyone to get laid," Tarquin pointed out. 

Halley's eyes fluttered downwards to her plate, herself tangled up in bedsheets with him flashing in her memory like some sort of alarm going off. 

"Well the list doesn't mention anything about us having to confide to other members of the band about it," she retorted, "but, if you must know, he was very. . ." 

". . . very?" Tarquin implored. 

". . . big." Halley finished, her cheeks feeling hot just thinking about it. 

Tarquin clasped his hands together, "brilliant news— headline worthy. Might contact the Daily Prophet and let them know!" 

"Very funny," she responded dryly, "now, hammocks! I think that Trewlany might have some fabrics for us to use— if you come with me, we can 'bump' into Terrence along the way." 

With that in mind, Tarquin happily complied, setting off with Halley on her quest to retrieve fabric from the Divination classroom— which came at the personal cost of time. 

It was around about an hour later when Professor Trewlany, with glasses that made her eyes look like tennis balls, finished reading their palms (warning them about the bleak futures ahead) and picked out some fabrics for them. 

Then, Halley and Tarquin pretended to be in deep discussion over said fabrics, constantly peering at the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, hoping for a slither of Terrence to appear at any given moment. 

"It's no use, he's probably in the sodding library or something," Tarquin finally groaned, beginning to linger away from the wall, gesturing that they head back to their own house territory. 

"Ew, well I'm not going anywhere near that on a weekend," Halley agreed, casting a spell on the thick rolls of bundled up fabric so that it lulled behind them as they set off, "don't worry— Quidditch games are very soon. We can cheer on Xerxes whilst using our binoculars to stare at Terrence, instead." 

It took a great deal of effort, but the hammocks were eventually constructed, and Halley wiped her sweaty forehead as she made her way out of Tarquin's room. She, of course, had to make hers all by herself, as boys couldn't enter the girls rooms. 

Only small pockets of puddles remained in the tunnels now, with the Prefects looking utterly exhausted as they fell into heaps on the sofas in the common room. 

"I come bearing gifts," Gillian said, "I've brought lemonade—" 

She was clutching onto a large, icy jug of fresh lemonade from the kitchens, but the sweet surprise was ruined as Tarquin accidentally sent his old mattress flying into her. 

"Shit, Addy, I didn't mean to, I swear!" He said, trying to stifle his laughs as Gillian was fixed with a look of complete anger. 

"I've had it with you," she tried to maintain the evil glare, but it was no use— she, too, was laughing, as she watched Tarquin fall against the mattress in a fit of giggles, "you think it's funny, big man? Let's give you a taste of your own medicine. . ." 

With that, Gillian had stood up and pointed her wand at him, levitating the mattress before sending Tarquin speeding out of the common room. 

"Addy!" Halley exclaimed, clasping her hand to her mouth and leaping off of the sofa, "where have you sent him?" 

"It's a surprise," Gillian replied, looking pleased with herself as everyone else in the common room either left to go and find him, or left to fetch more lemonade, "you don't think it's too far, do you?" 

"Too far?" Xerxes laughed, "it's epic, is what it is!" 

"Yeah," Halley high-fived him, beaming, "it's amazing— send me after him!" 

"What?" Gillian asked, twisting to face her bestfriend. Halley nodded, summoning her own mattress from the dorm. It came whizzing up the network of tunnels before landing in front of her. 

"You heard me, send me after him! Go on, it'll be a laugh," Halley quickly sat on the mattress, clutching onto the sides. 

"I mean. . . if you say so," Gillian grinned, pointing her wand at the mattress, and repeating the same spell.

"See you on the flipside!" Dry Deborah waved her off— she was the last thing Halley saw as the mattress hurtled out of the Hufflepuff Basement, past a group of shocked second years, and into the depths of Hogwarts Castle, scraping along the floor with each twist and turn. 

Halley knew that this was bound to be the most bizarre thing that she would get in trouble for.


	5. Chapter Five: Grass Stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! -R x

SUNDAY 3rd SEPTEMBER, 1978 

HOGWARTS CASTLE WAS a place filled with twists and turns— both figuratively and literally— and whilst each hallway was wide enough to accommodate for many students at a time, it wasn't exactly wide enough to accommodate flying mattresses, meaning that Halley wacked into furious portraits and sliced through misty ghosts before reaching her destination: 

Hovering over the Black Lake. 

Tarquin was clutching onto the sides of his mattress for dear life as the wind picked up, tilting it ever so slightly downwards, and making his feet dangle off of the edge. 

"Holy cow," he grunted through gritted teeth, "Hopcroft, you better be here to save me!" 

"Er— not exactly," she laughed nervously, daring to look over the side of her mattress and down at the inky waters far below them— as they had been warned many times before, it was a lake that confined a gigantic squid, and if you peered for long enough, often times you would spot one thick tenticle graze the surface and ripple the sunlight that was reflected off of it. 

"You didn't go by will?" He asked, his eyes still clamped together as he stayed as still as possible. 

Halley focused back on the courtyards in the far distance— no sign of Xerxes or Gillian yet, which meant that they truely had been left to fend for themselves. Well, technically not, because she had her wand on her, didn't she? 

. . . didn't she?! 

Halley reached down to her pocket and soon realised that she was, in fact, unarmed— something that was only going to further spur Tarquin into a frenzy. 

She shrugged as the wind wipped her locks across her shoulders, "s'okay, Quinny— we could do verbal magic?" 

His eyes shot open, sending daggers at her through his large brown eyes, ever emotive, "good Godric, didn't realise that you were an almighty, powerful witch, capable of magic that we haven't even been TAUGHT YET!" 

"TARQUIN!" Halley yelled, trying not to laugh at his frenzied state, "at least I'm trying to think of a way out of this mess! If we don't think of something soon, the wind is bound to pick up, and. . . you know. . . we could fall in and get gobbled up by a GIGANTIC SQUID, YOU MORON!" 

He screeched, arms wobbling, "don't even joke with me right now, Halley—" 

"— ooh, there it is now! Hold on tight Tarquin, the tenticle is coming for youuuu!" Halley teased, whilst the waters below them were completely still. 

"HALLEY!" Tarquin exclaimed warningly, "just use that massive fog horn voice of yours to get us out of this mess already!" 

"Jeez, ok, keep your knickers on," she retorted, turning back to face the castle. The rolling hills ahead of them showed some signs of life— figures of students, merely dots compared to the landscape— and she figured that it was worth a shot. 

"Oi! Hey! HELLO! S.O.S! OIIIIII!" She shouted, her shriek barely swallowed by the gusts of winds that wrapped around them. Her mattress dipped from side to side, and she swayed along with it as she continued to shout out into the grassy abyss, until a voice yelled back: 

"PETER! IT'S THE FLAGPOLE SNATCHERS!" 

Halley squinted at the figures as they began to sprint towards the lake— four of them. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Tarquin hissed, prying one eye open as his mattress offered a frightening wobble. 

"My sentiments exactly," Halley huffed, utterly helpless as the marauders practically skipped their way over, stopping at a considerable distance from the murky waters as they clutched their chests in disbelief. 

"It's not funny!" Tarquin shouted down at them, feet kicking in protest. One of his slippers met an early demise as it cascaded and grew soggy, revealing one of his matching socks, "shit, my Mum bought that for me!" 

Sirius let out a low snort, raking a hand through his ebony hair as his neck craned to meet the glare of Tarquin, "it is a little bit funny—" 

"— not when you could die alongside your slipper, it isn't," Tarquin bellowed, which only made James collapse into a fit of giggles on the floor, "if any of you have your wands on you, we would really appreciate it if you could send us back!" 

Halley was gently being rotated by whatever spell Gillian had cast— perhaps it was wearing off. Whatever effect the magic was having, it was anything but good— the mattress was practically groaning as each spring tried to hold her upright, whilst the water below looked rather eager to engulf her. 

She certainly wasn't one to beg though— especially not to the enemy, and especially not to the ex-lover boy. 

In fact, Halley was rather determined in her view that Tarquin was the one in a pickle— after all, she had willfully followed him, and was simply serving as a shoulder to lean on as he bartered with Sirius over whether or not they should be helped.

"I'll. . . I'll tell McGonagall that you did this to us!" Tarquin threatened, voice tight as he grew more desperate. 

"Ooh, I'm quaking from the safety of the ground," Sirius teased, earning a few laughs from the other boys. 

Halley had now rotated back around to her previous position, and she locked eyes with Remus, who had his wand drawn and ready to put an end to it when he was distracted by the remote ululating of Xerxes, who was clutching a book in one hand and expertly steering his broomstick with the other as he steadily approached them. 

"Ah, come to see the show?" Peter asked— Halley could spot his smirk even from a great distance, the ocean blue of his eyes milky and sparkling with mischief as he addressed Xerxes. 

"Sorry, Hopcroft, Selwyn," Xerxes ignored Peter and looked up at his friends, "Addy panicked because she couldn't figure out how to reverse it— and when you didn't come back, we started to research—" 

"— you can save the apology for later, darling dearest," Tarquin let out a shriek as his mattress suddenly dropped a foot or two, "XERXES FUCKING GET ME BACK ON THE GROUND RIGHT NOW!" 

The apples of her cheeks were sore from grinning profusely, and her knuckles were ghostly white having clutched onto the mattress for quite some time. 

"Right," Xerxes nodded quickly, his brows scrunching up his forehead as he pointed his wand at Tarquins mattress and uttered something at a normal decible— she just hoped that it was working, whatever it was— but to Tarquins dismay the mattress remained suspended in mid air. 

"Okay, better Quidditch captain coming through," James joked, laced with sarcasm as he stepped forward and pointed his wand at Tarquins mattress— having been in Charms lessons with the Gryffindors since first year, Halley was well aware of his ability to cast a good levitation spell, and didn't doubt him for one second as Tarquin slowly drifted far above the lake and back down to the ground. 

"My heart is beating in my arse," Tarquin huffed, clamping his eyes closed again as his head hit the springy foam. 

Halley waved to James, "care to help a lady out?" 

"Magic word?" He asked, his wand already aimed at her mattress, prepared to do his casting. 

"Abracasuck my abracaballs," she replied, eyebrows raised challengingly as her mane of hair continued to be swept by the breeze. 

The boys all spoke amongst themselves, clearly commenting on her witty retorts, but Halley was oblivious as her mattress hurtled towards the ground, landing close to Tarquin with a loud thud. 

"Oof," she mumbled, blinking quickly at the fresh perspective of the snowy peaks of the mountains that she had previously had her back to. Evergreen trees hugged the bottom of the grey rock, and they swayed to and fro as the wind continued its parade through the gramarye of the blissful nature. 

She was so distracted by its beauty that she didn't even notice the first few moments that her mattress began to move— the springs supporting her weight croaked beneath her, and Halley could feel the electric warmth of magic coursing through the fabric that touched her ankles. 

"Count on Addy to figure out the counter spell now," her laughter was knocked out of her as the mattress zoomed off— the difference this time being that it remained on the ground, ripping up a large rectangular line of earth as it skidded up a hill, leaving all of the boys behind. 

If this is what magic feels like, it would be a punishment not to do it all the time, she thought to herself. 

Any and all exhaustion from the previous nights endeavors were long washed out of her by the tidal wave of adrenaline that coursed through her— she lifted her arms up and let the air drag through them— the only sign of lack of sleep being the violet, half crescent silhouette of the inner corners of her eyes. 

Once more, the figures shrunk to mere dots, the sunny slopes and springing grass swallowing them whole as she reached the top of the hill, a thick sludge of mud gathered along the sides of the mattress as it slowed, the springs wheezing as Halley made a bid to get off of it— only one limb touched the ground before the magic seemed to flow and ebb back through it, meaning that she had to hold on for dear life as it dragged her past large oak doors of the castle. 

Then, finally, Gillian seemed satisfied that she had been successful in her attempt to summon the mattress back— Halley slumped, back pressed against it, and chuckled, "that was fucking awesome." 

The eerie silence of the hall unsettled her, however— as though a hundred unblinking eyes, drenched with obsidian, were boring into her from all angles; solidifying. 

"Miss Hopcroft!" Professor Flitwicks shrill echoed as it crawled up the walls and down her neck, making all hairs stand up. 

Indeed, she had been right in her previous assumption that it would be the most bizarre thing to get in trouble for— Halley scrambled to get up hastily, soon joined by the other boys as they paced into the crowded corridor with heads hung low. 

"This technically isn't against the school rules, Sir—" Halley bargained, earning a few sniggers from the students bunched together in small huddles, amused at the sight of a grass stained girl and a battered mattress caked in mud. 

Her tounge in cheek comments were soon lodged back where they belonged as Professor Agripona, the current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, loomed over Flitwick— a much more threatening figure in terms of stature and authority. 

The atmosphere shifted and raucous ensued— with her own comments vanquished in her throat, she didn't dare challenge Filch as he gripped her forearm, calling out to Professor Agripona that he would see to it that Halley was appropriately punished. 

"It wasn't her fault though, Sir," Remus said quickly from behind her. 

Halleys head rose with interest, piqued intrigue causing her to twist her neck to lock eyes with him, scrutinising him meticulously for braving to get involved. This did not go unnoticed by Remus, whos eyes glided from her fixed gaze back to his antithesis. 

"Thought it would be. . . funny." 

"Mr Lupin," Professor Flitwick wheezed, jowls aquiver and the manical light of mischief detection in his bulging eyes, "are you claiming that you were solely behind the entirety of this complete and utter baffoonery?" 

"Oh please," Professor Agripona cut in, looking most uninterested in whatever Remus tried to spew out next, "these four are glued at the hips— a group of bubbling, babbling baboons! If any such mischief was at play, I have no doubts that it was shared and carried out by more than one culprit, hm?" 

Halley yanked herself free from Filch's grip vehemently, "no, Professors, it was just Remus and I—we both thought that it would be funny, but as you can see, it got a bit out of hand. . . I'm sorry." 

With that, Gillian came rushing down the hall, Oxfords coming to a halt just behind a huddled group of smaller students, "it was my idea, entirely mine—" 

"— there is no need, Miss Montgomery Brown!" Professor Agripona scolded her, "your friends have already made their confessions. Everybody disperse now, please! The 'show' is over!" 

Gillian gave Halley a sorrowful, apologetic look that Halley simply refused to accept— yes, Professor Sprout had told the group to stay out of trouble only yesterday. . . but this was something that Halley had asked Gillian to do, without letting Gillians analytical brain truely survey the consequences. 

That, plus the fact that Halley had a salacious taste for doing very random, spur of the moment things— this was merely a walk in the park, and, if anything, just one of list of things that should've earnt her a months worth of detentions, but would only garner about a weeks. 

Filch followed behind both Remus and Halley as they were guided to the staff room— one floor up from the Grand Hall, and decorated with antique cabinets and circular seating, with large windows that overlooked the training field and Quidditch pitch. 

After stern reminders of the school rules, a personal dig or two from Professor Agripona, and a private talk with Professor Sprout (whos shoes were no longer covered in sick), Halley left the staff room with an even larger appetite for icy lemonade then she had an hour or so before. 

"Merlins beard," Remus whispered as he left the room, looking rather surprised to see Halley waiting for him. 

"Why did you take the blame, dickwad? You weren't even involved!" She hissed. 

Remus stammered, "I was trying to be nice! It was a nice thing to do, wasn't it?!" 

"It was a stupid thing to do, you. . . stupid boy! I don't need saving, especially when I'm not in trouble—" 

"— you were about to get ripped to shreds in front of everyone! I couldn't just stand there!" 

Halley scoffed, "whatever. Where on earth was Tarquin, whilst all of that was taking place?" 

"Gillian and James both tried casting on it at the same time," Remus explained, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, "he went flying back the alternative route, back down to the Hufflepuff Basement." 

Halley nodded, "right. Well, I'll see you in detention, I s'pose." 

"Yeah," Remus replied softly, and then he shook his head, "seriously, flying mattresses? I bet you won't be trying to pull that off anytime soon." 

"Oh, no," Halley shook her head, "I intend to pull it off again as soon as possible." 

She left with a wicked grin carved on her face— time to test out the hammock, she reckoned.


	6. Chapter Six: Kidnapped Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! -R x

MONDAY 4th SEPTEMBER, 1978

HISTORY OF MAGIC was drab, practically sucking the life out of the students as the ghostly figure of Professor Binns droned on about the Uprising of Elfric the Eager before sonorously recounting the Goblin Rebellion of 1612.

Halley tinged the bleak atmosphere with some jubilance by confiscating two nail files from Gillian and using them to beat a merry tune against the carved edges of her desk— although this didn't last long, because they were soon torn from her grip by Gillian, who used one of them to prod her back to a state of awareness. 

"You need to pay attention, this part of the battle will provide great historical context for our essays—" 

Halley inwardly groaned— three hours had passed since breakfast, and the homework had already reached an insurmountable pile of insufferable recounting of topics that, quite frankly, she didn't give a shit about.

"— it's first thing on a Monday, Addy, hold your bloody Thestrals," Halley muttered, "I mean, honestly, if keeping you company during these drab recitals of periodical drama that has no zest to it isn't a declaration of my love, I don't know what is." 

"You can declare your love by writing down some notes," she spoke warily, "and you, Xerxes! The weather isn't going to change between now and later, so you don't have to keep staring out of the window every thirty seconds." 

Halley turned her head to observe Xerxes, and indeed he too was paying no great amount of attention on the lecture, but instead on the stained glass window panes, which resembled blotchy anilinky watercolour pallettes due to the caliginous sky which had swallowed the mountains whole— summer was well and truely over, and Halley returned her gaze back to Gillian feeling bleaker than ever. 

"Don't look so sorry for yourself," Gillian retorted, "you've still got Herbology with Tarquin to get through—" 

"— shit sprinkled with sugar and baked in a pie! We have an essay due for that, too. . ." Halley sighed, utterly defeated, "I best go remind him. Any other catastrophic mishaps, and Sprout might just use his dead body as fertiliser for her precious Fanged Geraniums." 

"I'd like to see it," her friend replied wickedly, face contorted with distaste, "still mad at him for bringing up my head of highlights— they looked lush, just like Marilyn Monroe—" 

"— Marilyn Monroe was platinum blonde, you dipshit," Halley laughed, "and I'm not getting involved in your great highlight dispute— it's almost as vicious as the freaking Goblin Rebellion." 

Gillian rolled her eyes, "suit yourself, babes. But when you ask to copy my notes later on—"

"— you'll say 'I told you so!'." Halley finished for her, before reaching for her satchel and ducking out of the classroom; sneaking out into the eerily quiet hallways of the castle. 

Whenever History of Magic was draining the life out of her and Xerxes (whilst Gillian scribbled away, enthralled in anything that the acient Professor mentioned), Tarquin was three floors up in Muggle Studies, a lesson that enamoured the Pureblood wizards and witches, who found any object inherently Muggle to be completely and utterly amusing— the classroom, decorated in clusters of 'lamps' and dotted with bright ruby red 'telephone boxes' resembled a playground more than anything else. 

Halley reached into her satchel and hastily scribbled down some nonsense that would hopefully dispel Tarquin from the lesson, of which a young Professor Quirrell was the teacher. 

The door opened without her having to knock, and the rattling of metal rushed out into the hallway— many of the boys inside were eagerly pushing obnoxiously large cages around the room, whilst Tarquin opted for a smaller, handheld one. 

"— merlins beard, what are these?!" Halley exclaimed delightedly, as Tarquin strutted towards her and displayed it. 

"The Muggles use them for shopping, ain't it sweet? Look, they use the big ones for lots of food, and the small ones for picking up milk, I think— because they don't have Locomotor spells, obviously. . ." 

Halley took the small metallic basket and rattled it around in her hand for a bit— then asked Quirrell, "may I speak to Tarquin outside quickly? Professor Binns sent me, it won't take long." 

Quirrell complied, and Halley brought Tarquin out and into a balcony, overlooking the sprawling meadows (a long brown patch cutting through it, reminding her that she still had detention to attend for the flying mattress endeavor), where she provided him with a pen and paper and tried to sort out his Herbology essay in as little time as possible. 

"Okay," Tarquin desperately scanned the parchment, blotched with ink and crumpled, "er, Fanged Geraniums. They. . . are plants." 

"Yes," Halley nodded, "they are plants. And. . . shit, we should've spent more time reading then watching bloody rom coms over the summer!" 

Tarquin shook his head, "delinquents, we are. Right, focus! Fanged Geraniums. They are plants, and they. . ." 

". . . are green?" Halley offered. 

"Stalks are green," Tarquin muttered as he scribbled it down, feather fluttering to and fro as his hand moved across the parchment, "petals are. . . red. . . and they have fangs." 

"Yeah," she nodded, drumming against the marble surface of the balcony as she racked her brain for any other information, "and they're probably German?" 

"Godric knows," Tarquin sighed, "sod it, it's going in. Alright, so, Fanged Geraniums: they are plants, their stalks are green, petals are red, they have fangs, and they are German. Anything else?"

"Zilch," Halley shrugged, "better than nothing though, right?" 

Tarquin and Halley had always been rather similar in this way; sharing the same liking for procrastination and favouring for partying— and Tarquin had been austentacious throughout the entirety of his academics, always too keen for the theatrical rather than practical. If five rather simple facts were all that they could muster the energy to spew onto a piece of parchment, then that was all that Professor Sprout would be receiving, as he was strictly stubborn, and this was showcased especially as Tarquin had edged from the balcony, a signal that he wouldn't be spending any more time on the Herbology work. 

"Cheers for reminding me," he thanked her lazily, folding up the parchment and gesturing towards the door, "end of lesson now, anyways, so I'll just fetch my shit and then we can head off—"

He was disrupted by another folded piece of parchment, which hit the tip of his ear and left a tiny, irritated red mark as he unfolded it and gagged at whatever he had just read. 

Halley hummed, discontinuing her tapping so that she could read it— it contained nothing but a small, green and gooey substance, bordered by a wobbly love heart. 

"Is that—" 

"— a crushed up, bogey flavoured bean," Tarquin nodded, dismissively shoving the note in Halleys general direction with disgust. 

"Well I don't want it, you idiot!" She retorted, rushing back to the balcony and letting a gust of wind rush through her frizzed locks of golden hair. 

His eyes sparkled as he read the sender, "love from Wormtail and Padfoot." 

"Ever so romantic," Halley outstretched her hands and took the very corner of the note, and winked at Tarquin— when the door to the Muggle Studies classroom burst open, Peter was being wheeled out of it inside of a trolley, directed by a gleeful looking Sirius, who eagerly scanned Tarquin for any sort of bubbling, seething reaction that he might provide for his entertainment. 

Wordless magic tended to work in Halleys favour, suitably more so than wandless magic ever did. By the time that the trolley had reached the end of the corridor, the note (which was suspended in the air) had just about caught up with the boys— so when Halley performed the engorgement charm, the gigantic bogey flavoured bean landed atop of their heads spot on. 

She could just about hear the squeals coming from younger students surrounding the trolley, and then the shriek of Peter as the weight of the grotesque inflated goop meant that he had gone spiralling down one of the staircases, stopped only by Lily Evans, who took great pleasure as the newly appointed Head Girl in chastising them. 

The telling off faded away as the murmur of giggling fourth years surpassed them, forming a tidal wave that clogged up the corridors, billowing black cloaks brushing past the portraits and intricate cuttings of each wall as they journeyed to the Greenhouses— home of Herbology students and plant enthusiasts alike. 

As Hufflepuffs, it was bound to be one of their favourite subjects— the only dislikes were the labour intensive herbs, and the Slytherins of which they shared the class with. 

Aside from that, the Greenhouses and Herbology consisted of thick ivory, talking toadstalls, mahogany pots and damp earth that filled your lungs with a sense of escapism— whilst you were here, you were not merely a witch or a wizard, but an adventurer, tending to the wounded and cutting through thick, atmospheric jungle, or a lover, sitting in the Garden of Eden and digging your hands into lucious fruit that exuberated the most divine of magic— life itself. 

Professor Sprout was not nearly as unjust as the duo made her out to be, and she simply gave them pointed looks and asked them to sit down and give the essay some proper thought before handing it in once more. Then, she was back to her hearty, pompous self— a middle aged witch constantly smelling of fresh waterfalls and scraped with soil. 

It was the perfect type of lesson to gossip away, whilst pottering around and analysing the plants labelled with their names. Halley had a few that she was tending to for her coursework— a Chinese Chomping Cabbage that she had named Chomper, a Flutterby Bush, and a Wiggentree— as well as preparing a new pot for the Fanged Geraniums, of which she would be partnered with Severus Snape, much to her dismay. Luckily, Halley found it hard to be anything but hungry at this time of day, where the large windows of the greenhouse that they were situated in were splattered with tiny raindrops and seeping into the grass outside. 

Glumbumble honey salad, succulent fried chicken, paprika covered potatoe wedges and large silver goblets of pumpkin juice were enough to stir her rumbling belly into a frenzy— Xerxes was already in a rush for practice, and left as soon as her and Tarquin had reached the table. 

"Meet you as soon as I've scoffed down dessert," Tarquin gave Xerxes a pat on the back, watching him bounce away like some sort of springy puppy dog. 

Halley sighed, thoughts immediately rushing to the band. She wanted prom to be a combined effort, but at this rate it would be a neverending cycle of waiting for them all to have a little less on their plates (literally and figuratively) before she could ever begin discussions— and then, of course, there was the band itself, who hadn't exactly had a chance to practice and test their musical capabilities for hours on end. 

She ate her woes away in the form of dessert, consisting of silky marzipan and golden syrup sponge, with a newfound surge of energy as the trio dropped their books back to their dorms. 

Gillian wasn't exactly keen to discuss anything that wasn't Xerxes' match tactics or essays that were due in the days following, joking that: "we are barely one day into the school term, Halley, and you shouldn't be fretting about this bloody band when you've got weeks worth of detentions to look forward to!" 

Halley laughed along with her, deciding that Gillian was most likely right, as she normally was— although it didn't stop her mind from filling with wonder, imagining a sparkly Grand Hall filled with streamers, and a gigantic stage adorned with fantastical lights that would be fit for any rock star to drum away on. 

It only made her more motivated to win this bet with the Marauders— well, her heart was more set on defeating ex-lover boy, but nobody needed to know that. 

The Quidditch stands were actually rather fun when practice was taking place— and were particularly packed as a result of a mixture of all four houses on the pitch, for reasons unknown to Halley. 

"Ah, look, it's my future husband," Tarquin said, all excited as he passed the binoculars to Gillian and shuffled around in his seat. 

Gillian adjusted them and followed Terrence, the Beater for the Ravenclaw team, who had learnt what muscles were over the course of the summer holidays and decided to attach some to his arms (and his arms only) apparently. 

She sighed dramatically, "he is a beauty, I'll give you that. What's his star sign?" 

He also let out a sigh, and snatched the binoculars back, "he's a Gemini. I don't want to talk about it." 

"Yeah, let's not— well, it is kind of tragic, but then again my Mum is a Scorpio and my Dad is a Leo. Witches Weekly says that they should be a match made in hell, but they—" 

"— are amazing at baking," Tarquin finished for her, "have you owled her and asked for some of those brownies yet?!" 

"It's been two days, you chocoholic," Gillian laughed, and then turned her attention to Halley, who to the untrained eye was staring off into space, "earth to Halley, do you copy?" 

"The lights are on but no one is home, bless her little cotton socks," Tarquin teased, before he used the binoculars to follow her gaze and then began to chuckle— she, as much as she hated to admit it, was gawking at Remus, who had taken to the stands opposite them, finding his spot amongst the Gryffindor observers. 

"Mind your business, you two," Halley nudged Gillian, and like a domino effect her shoulders pushed into Tarquins, who let out an overly dramatic strangled yelp as he was shoved into the wooden bench. 

Of course, this was in bad timing, as ever, because Terrence had been swooping past and shot some sort of amalgamation of a confused, worried and judgemental look in Tarquins direction. 

"Good Godric, kill me now!" He hissed, slapping the sides of his face with each of his hands, cold as the biting air nipped at them. 

Gillian patted his back reassuringly, "don't worry, Quinny, no one was looking— apart from the Hufflepuffs, oops, and Marlene McKinnon is laughing about it, I think. . . well, now that I think about it, it was a Gemini sort of reaction. . ." 

Halley reached for the binoculars that had been disregarded on the wooden beam floor, and was about to adjust them to her own liking when she spotted something rather unusual— the unnaturally enlarged bogey flavoured dessert, still encased in the Muggle trolley, rushing down the grassy slope at full speed and onto the field. 

Gillian was quick to snatch the binoculars for herself, as she was hastily ready to swoop in and perform her Prefect duties, meaning that Halley had to squint with her fuzzy eyesight at the disruption that the trolley was causing. 

"Anyone order a bogey?!" Someone from the stands yelled out jokingly, earning a few laughs from their peers. 

"Oh, is that the bean that you engorged earlier?" Tarquin questioned, which made Gillian point a tired looking nail file at him. 

"Why engorge a bogey flavoured one? That's disgusting! Who's it belong to then, go on, fess up—" 

"— pretty sure that it's Pettigrews," Halley scratched her head, "he. . . gifted it to us, I suppose." 

"Honestly, Halley, I love you, but you do test my nerves," Gillian shook her head in a motherly fashion, the hand that was clutching the nail file settling on her hip as she stood up and used the binoculars to observe and commentate what was going on far below them. 

"Sirius Black is on his broom, and he's rushing to see what is in the trolley— oh, no, he's taking something from the trolley— oh, no!" 

"What, Addy?" Tarquin asked, and when Gillian didn't reply, he took the binoculars and began commentating himself, annoyed at her less than speedy recollections, "it's a kitten! It was submerged inside the bogey bean— Sirius is casting the cleaning charm on his arm, good idea that— and now he's picking up the cat. . . and now he's. . . flying away?!" 

There was a few more moments of silence between the trio, and Halley had to sit feeling rather dumbfounded until Xerxes came speeding towards them on his broom, his yellow outfit rather bright and sunny in contrast to his face, which was dark and red. 

"Can't believe it! One day in, one day in, and they've already managed to tick one thing off!" He panted, both hands planted firmly on the broomstick handle as he bobbed up and down in the air. 

The wind picked up and whistled through the gaps of the wooden beams of the stands, and Tarquin passed the binoculars to Halley to use, his mouth agape as he tilted his head. 

"Done what, Xers? What have they done?!" 

Xerxes looked back up at the sky and at Sirius, who Halley could now see was parading around with the kitten resting within his thick wooly jumper. 

"One of the things that we put on their to do list was to kidnap Filch's cat, you numpty! They lured it in, somehow, probably summoned the trolley here once it had worked, and now look at him— he's bloody kidnapped it! So they've ticked one thing off of their list!" He explained, and Halley hummed.

"Pretty original way of doing it though— I figured that they would run around trying to scoop it up around the castle," she shrugged. 

It was partly the reason why the Glitterballs had put it down as one of the things for the Marauders to cross off of their to do list in the first place— the absurdity of such a feat, and the fact that Filch very rarely parted from his beloved pets, meaning that successfully kidnapping it would be incredibly difficult to do. Well, so they thought. 

"Pretty original way?" Gillian repeated, "Halley, you were the one that cast the engorgement charm that trapped it, for crying out loud. Well, it doesn't matter now, anyway— two can play at that game." 

". . . you're going to cast an engorgement charm on a bogey flavoured bean, too?" Xerxes asked, confuddled. 

"No," Gillian sighed, "we are all going to start on our to do list, just like they have."

Halley nodded, glad that they were now doing something towards successfully taking back their prom, even if it took a disturbance of their evening to make Gillian find any importance in it herself. She used the binoculars to track Sirius, who carefully lowered his broom until he had landed safely back on the terf, where Filch was running rampant and cursing like a sailor for his pet back— if Sirius didn't land himself in detention for that, Halley was certain that the system was rigged. 

Then, she switched her gaze from Sirius to Remus, back up within the stands, and jumped slightly when she realised that Remus was staring right back at her with his own pair of binoculars— he waved, enlarged honeycomb eyes blinking softly as he spotted her, and then he mouthed, "walk with me to detention!" 

If the day hadn't been interesting enough, then this was most certainly going make it.


	7. Chapter Seven: Crusty Cauldrons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kinda a shorter chapter :( but I hope you enjoy and thanks for reading! -R x

MONDAY 4th SEPTEMBER, 1978

REMUS HAD ALWAYS been affable and easy to talk to, which only increased as his adoption into James Potter's promenading entourage ensued in second year— Gryffindors, as a whole, had a nack for oozing a kind but boastful confidence, and Halley liked to argue with herself that these qualities were what defeated her back in fifth year, which is when he had swooned her into dating. 

Back then— when they frequented picnics together during strawberry field summers, listened to the roaring crackle of the latest Queen hit as it spun on the record player, or erupted into chaotic combustions classed as dancing at house parties— he had been the only thing that could make her remarkably louder, and was adorningly referred to as 'loverboy'. 

That was until the peak of summer collapsed into the treacherous final days of sun-kissed bliss; where he had inexplicably broken her heart, and earned the thorny crown that came with the label 'ex-loverboy'. . . she wasn't keen to talk about the reasons why, but she most certainly had them, which is why her and her friends had embarked on a mission to change the Gryffindor flagpole to emblazon the glorious Hufflepuff colours as an act of bitter revenge and newfound hatred of all things scarlet. 

It seemed that Remus had finally reached the end of his tolerance of her spurning, however, especially after their drunken. . . rendezvous— to put it lightly— and he was hellbent on spending the walk to detention telling her so. 

"Work with me here," he pleaded, shoving his hands into his pockets and swallowing hard, "no more petty antagonism— I mean, surely what ever it was that I did wrong can be sorted just by talking?! With. . . with common ground and. . . cooperation?"

Halley half huffed, half laughed— the audacity that this boy suddenly had! How dare he act high and mighty, voice lamented with indignation, and puppy dog eyes practically watering with sorrowful glances! 

"Spare me the speech, Lupin," she replied, "first of all, you sound like Flitwick if he had a firework up his arse, and second of all, the fact that you don't know what you did wrong only goes to prove my point that there is no hope for redemption!" 

"It's been a year, a whole year, and you were fine with me at the pub—"

"— when vodka was involved. Many, many shots of vodka."

"Okay, well, we are walking together now, aren't we?" 

"I'll put you on a leash if you don't pack it in," she shot back, "because a walk is all that it is. I thought you were just being gentlemanly, offering to walk with me— gosh, must you be so perfect?!" Halley fumed. 

His eyes widened, reddened face absorbing the shock of such a statement, and whilst he stumbled on his words he continued to walk seamlessly alongside her. 

"I. . . I— you were just annoyed at me, and now you call me perfect?" 

She sighed, pulling her curls into a ponytail as they turned through the courtyard, which was made up of large stone archways with thick branches of green ivory twisting upwards and meeting in the middle. 

"Whatever," she said, and they stayed in silence for a few moments, until he decided to dig himself into a deeper hole. 

". . . but at the next party, are we going to. . . end up. . ." he trailed off. 

His anxiety to finish his sentence only amused her, and she crossed her arms as she retorted, "end up doing what, exactly?" 

"Ugh, I don't know. . . going steady? Ew, well, you know what I mean—" 

"— the only time that anything steady will be occurring is when I steadily hit your face with my fist," she threatened, although it came out as a lighthearted joke, and they both ended up chuckling as they neared the room that would host them during detention. 

"Oh please, you couldn't hit a barn door with a banana!" 

Halley shrugged, "touché." 

"There we go," Remus said, with a newfound spring in his step, "smiling again, at least." 

"Won't be when we've got to scrub crusty cauldrons with a toothbrush," she grimanced, gesturing to the door ahead of them and hinting at the punishment that Professor Agripona had in store for them. 

Remus took a deep breath, combing through his honeysuckle hair with his fingers, "ladies first." 

Reluctantly, Halley knocked on the oak door, which had been summoned open by the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, who loomed by one of the few dozen desks. 

"Good evening," he sibilated. 

"Alright?" Remus said casually— it was more of an answer than a question, and he shut the door behind him as he followed Halley into the large room. 

Agripona ignored him, his cloak billowing outwards as he strode with purpose towards the back of the room. Halley knew to follow him, and this revealed that the duo would be faced with the task of spelling away the graffiti in the textbooks for the remainder of the evening (better than any detentions that the Care of Magical Creatures professor had ever given them, though). There was a generous helping for each of them, and the large quantity meant that they wouldn't have much time for talking, according to Agripona, who left them to their own devices as he encapsulated himself in his office. 

"Do you reckon that he's actually marking work," Halley tried to speak in hushed tones, although it wasn't much use with the voice that she had, "or do you reckon that he's actually a vampire, and that he's got a great big coffin in there that he sleeps in whilst he makes us slave away?" 

"The latter, definately," Remus agreed, as he pointed the tip of his wand at the first book and guided it towards the desk that he had settled on. 

Halley didn't exactly have a sharp attention span, and found herself nodding off until Remus let one textbook drop to the floor with a rather loud thud— Agripona muttered some sort of word of warning, and she tried to focus after that, knowing that he was listening out for them— but she ended up flicking through the textbooks as if they were magazines, gazing at the pictures of dark objects and most likely missing scribbled notes that she was meant to be vanquishing. 

After a while, the flicking of pages stopped and she let her eyes wander to the figure that she had been attempting to keep in her peripheral vision. 

"You need to focus," Remus said sternly, raising his eyebrows and jabbing his wand at her book, causing the pages to drift upwards softly before settling back down. 

"Oi," she replied, "let me live." 

"This isn't living, that's the issue," he sighed, "if you are going to continue picking bones with me over ancient stuff, then maybe I should give you shit for landing me in this detention in the first place." 

"Oi!" She said again, leaning back in her seat, "I never asked for Lord Lupin to save me from my detention castle, did I? You landed yourself into it by trying to take the blame." 

"Okay," Remus nodded, "well, if you want to rid of me so badly, why don't you just tell us how to get our flagpole back, or better yet, just change it back yourselves? That way, you get your fancy prom and band glory back, and we get to. . . go back to doing what we were doing before." 

Halley scoffed, "why can't I have everything that I want? Maybe I want your flagpole, prom and my band, all at the same time, and without the intrusion of meddling boys!" 

"Meddling boys?! How am I meddling, Hals, I just—" 

"— too. Much. Talking." Professor Agripona emerged from the shadows of his office archway, looking most displeased, and this put Remus off from finishing any coherent explanation until a solid half an hour had passed. 

"— miss all of you. You, the rest of the Glitterballs. . . we all do," Remus finished, waiting to see Halleys reaction. 

He wasn't exactly placing her on the spot, but she was struggling to give him a profound, kind reaction without coming across as angry— because she was angry! He was perfect, and yet he had broken her heart, and it felt like he was holding a pair of scissors to the string in which seventh year was hanging on to and threatening to keep on knawing away at the thinning twine. 

"If you truely. . . missed us, all of us, that is, then why do you lot keep on pulling weird stuff off to annoy us? Starting a band, threatening to perform at my prom—" 

"— the Glitterball's prom," he corrected her, before continuing, "s'pose we got jealous, alright? If you want me to be fucking honest, we got a bit jealous, and we are cooler than you—" 

"— are not!" 

"Are too! Anyways, that doesn't matter, what I'm trying to say is that this is all a misunderstanding. A series of misunderstandings, because you need to realise that you can have everything you want, but only if you share it!" 

She didn't have a big ego, but this revelation was most certainly a shock to the system. She could have everything she wanted. . . if she shared it?!

"What, so what, you guys want to share prom, and the flagpole, and the stage?" Halley asked, softly tapping her wand against the desk out of habit. 

Remus stammered, "well, I assume that that is what we would like, yeah. You know, as a group, we would appreciate it if the other group shared stuff. With us." 

"Right, well," Halley turned her attention back to the pile of textbooks in front of her, searching a random page and beginning to etch off the blotchy ink stains from a quill used long ago, "I don't think that my group will understand that unless the other group can prove it to them somehow."

Halley quickly flickered her gaze to see the pace at which Remus was sorting through his pile, but instead they had fixed their gaze upon one another. 

Then he smiled. 

"I'm sure something can be arranged, my damsel in distress." 

"Ew," Halley pretended to retch, "never call me that again, I will rip you limb for limb." 

"An eye for an eye," he retorted, "and most people that dislike name-calling don't blush afterwards." 

Oh gosh, was she blushing? She really hoped that she wasn't blushing. 

"You need to focus," she said sternly, raising her eyebrows and jabbing her wand at the book that he was paying no attention to that was currently cradled in his lap. 

"No use," he shrugged, admitting defeat, "time is up for detention— isn't that right, Professor?!" 

Indeed, Professor Agripona dismissed them, only just about satisfied with the work that they had completed during the duration of the detention. Remus insisted on walking Halley back to the dungeons, and she had to really focus on not blushing, which only made her angrier at herself. 

"About us arranging something," she mustured up the courage to say, "what exactly did you mean by that?" 

"Er— well, we can figure it out, I s'pose. My brain is kind of foggy, to be honest. . . just getting late, y'know. I'll see you tomorrow?" He leant against the stone wall as he spoke, the height difference meaning that he was looking down at her as he did so. 

"Okay," she nodded, stifling a yawn, "cheers, Lupin." 

"Don't call me that," the sides of his mouth turned upwards as he began walking backwards. 

Halley scoffed, "whatever should I call you then? Mate? Sir? Dude?" 

"Knight in shining armour, perhaps?" He suggested cheekily, which was something so fresh out of a teenage romance that Halley was worried that she was sat in front of a TV screen instead. 

To be a Knight in shining armour, you have to save me instead of leaving me stranded, she thought to herself. 

"Goodnight, Remus," she solidified the meaning of using the first name, and he let the corners of his mouth transform into a smile. He didn't reply, but he didn't really need to. 

She thought about what he might of said if he had replied for the rest of the night, though, until another idea entered her mind and took over completely— an idea involving Remus Lupin, the fate of her future, flying mattresses, and crusty cauldrons.


End file.
